Here Comes The Sun
by Let Love In
Summary: Arnold is in a tragic accident, which leaves all of his childhood friends in shambles at the hospital. Read each of their individual thoughts and last words through their own eyes as they prepare to say goodbye to their best friend.
1. Eugene

**A/N: This is going to be a bit of a different story, but I'm really hoping it is successful! Read the author's note on the bottom if you get confused, because the narrations change quite often. Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! (Unfortunately…)**

This wasn't anything I was expecting. Hell, it was far from it. All the other accidents I had been in were just preparatory for this one. It was big; oh boy, it was big. 

I am driving, and I have been for only a few minutes. I'm at an intersection and I begin to pass when a clearly determined man goes through (completely ignoring a stop sign) doing 45. Everything slows down.

All I can really point out is the screaming of obscenities from the person next to me. Who is that exactly? I don't even remember by now. And then the piercing pain in my side leaves me breathless and unable to see straight. I hear someone screaming my name, as my side feels like it's splitting into an even half. Agony spouts through me like a fountain and a black film soon begins to cover my eyes. I haven't blacked out yet, but I wish I would get it over with already. 

Sounds slowly fade from my ears. My usually heightened senses begin to lower to a dull point, and I can only barely hear sirens and the sound of the mystery person next to me crying and saying my name.

It won't be long. I'm numb from the waist down and it feels as though I'm lying down. I feel something warm, trickling down my head and I can only guess it's blood. It won't be long.

"Arnold…"

My own breathing becomes stunted…

Is this happening? Am I going to be gone? Please, God, don't let me be leave.

Everything is quite except for the breathing. But then the breathing isn't even audible.

I'm gone.

* * *

"How is he doing?" Came a concerned voice. The hospital nurse turned around and looked down at the six or so teenagers who had come to visit their friend who had been admitted just weeks before. She sighed.

"We aren't sure yet," She gravely stated, "But from the looks of it, it's not too great." The teenagers all looked down in disdain. One of them nervously piped up.

"Can we visit him anytime soon?" The girl asked. The nurse looked into the small, white hospital room and then back at the group.

"I guess so. Not too many at once, though, you see how small that room is." The nurse said and then quickly walked away. The teenagers looked at each other with no words. 

Soon, they all decided to sit in the waiting room and wait until someone got some sort of an idea. Should they just go home? Or should they visit one of their best friends? They all looked positively grief-stricken. One girl in particular looked almost shattered, as she sat with her knees pulled up in the chair, and her clammy arms wrapped around them. Everyone stared at her with peculiar glances. 

The silence that engulfed the area wasn't a particularly awkward silence, but they all felt something had to be said. But what? Their ears pricked at the slightest sound. The dropping of a pen, the muttered sentence from nurse to nurse, and even small sobs were heard echoing from the corridors. 

There wasn't much they could do or say, but they knew it would be best to say some sort of goodbye to their friend. He may recover, but they all weren't too sure. 

"Should we just go in one by one, or what?" Came an angry voice. Even in a time of depression, the girl would always be bitter.

"Good idea, Helga. She did say there wasn't room in there." Another voice stated. The rest of the group agreed. It became silent for just a few moments.

"So who's going first?" Spoke a somewhat snooty girl in bright red. They looked around and shrugged their shoulders. 

"I'll go," Came a shy voice from a fiery redheaded boy. Everyone turned to gawk as he cut through the children and straight into the hospital room without another word. The door clicked silently behind him.

* * *

I'm five years old, and in kindergarten. And let me tell you, it is absolutely rotten.

I look around for a table to sit at for lunch. Anywhere would be fine for me; I am open to friendships with my new classmates. I'm not completely sure they feel the same, however, because every table I stop at, I receive odd glares and whispers. They all know each other from preschool, and I thought it wouldn't be a big deal.

"Hi,"

I turn around cautiously. A child with white paste glazed in his brilliant red hair stared back at me, with a bright smile on his face and all. He carries a brown sack lunch in one hand. I wave nervously.

"Do you want to sit with me? I never usually have a lunch buddy," He admits solemnly. Smiling and nodding, I follow him to a rickety, old table that seems much trashier from the rest. He sits down on a squeaky chair and opens his lunch pouch.

"Look, turkey," He smiles, pulling out a sandwich from his pack, "What do you have?"

I look down at my bare hands.

"Grandpa slept in today, and forgot to pack me a lunch." I say while I hear my stomach audibly rumbling, as if there is a volcano planted inside me.

"Here, you can have half," He surrenders one triangle of his turkey sandwich to me, and I grin unconsciously. 

"What's your name?" I ask him, taking a bite of the sandwich. He chews, gulps, and answers,

"Eugene," He extends a hand.

"Arnold," I exchange my name for his handshake and continue to eat as Eugene talks about his almost famous Mona Lisa made of snot and his brand new sandals, which his father made him wear in case of a rash. Maybe kindergarten won't be so bad after all.

* * *

"Hi, Arnold," I say as I enter the cramped hospital room and I look at my friend. His usual upright blonde hair is droopy and a dull yellow, and his skin looks almost gray. I want to wince upon looking at him.

I feel the eyes of all my other classmates on me through the large window, but for once I really don't care. I'm just here to see one of my greatest friends, maybe for the last time. I hope to God it's not the last time.

I look at him for a very, very long time. I imagine him as he usually is, hopeful and trying to keep the peace within the rest of us. Ever since elementary school, he was been the backbone for all of us. Even people who don't like to show it, like Helga or Rhonda. He has been there through it all.

"I miss you, you know?" I tell him. He lies there and the machines whir, and I don't get a response. 

"It's like there's no more air," I continue, "We can't breathe anymore."

The machines whir.

My eyes droop and I let out a deep, long, and needed sigh. The tubes and medical equipment hooked up to his limp body look painful, and they make it hard to imagine he's all right. If there were no tubes, I would just pretend he was asleep, or something else. 

I always do it in a time of crisis. Imagine things, I mean. When my pet gerbil died, I pretended she had just dug a hole right through to the outside and went to live with her relatives. But not now. Now, it was serious. There was no escaping this one, not even for a minute.

"You have to come back sometime," I mutter. He lies there, and the machines whir. It's getting harder and harder for me to stand here and not do something drastic. I feel the need to leave, but I can't.

Rubbing a hand through my hair while shoving the other in my pocket, I suddenly feel sick. I don't like to see the one person who didn't make fun of me, or ridicule me during most of our childhood years just lie there in front of me, motionless and half alive. Only half alive.

"I'm not sure what to say," I scratch the back of my neck tentatively, "But I hope I see you soon, right? I really hope so," 

I move towards the exit, slowly. My legs are like cinder blocks and I can barely lift them without regretting it, and without wanting to turn around once more. But I won't do it.

"Goodbye." 

The machine whirs. I exit with one teardrop gliding down my face but I wipe it off before looking at the others. They smile with empathy.

"Who's next?"

**A/N: I really hope I didn't confuse you! If you need clarification: The first section was Arnold, the second was 3****rd**** person, the third section was Arnold (somewhat of a flashback), and the last section was Eugene. This is how the bulk of this story will be written (if you have any outrageous objections, don't hesitate!), meaning that it will be 3****rd**** person, then Arnold flashbacking, and then a random person of my choice. Teehee! I hope you like, review and let me know what you want to happen in this story! I think I have five other characters picked out for right now (in no specific order):**

**Gerald, Helga, Rhonda, Sid, Phoebe. **

**If you want someone else to be included, let me know! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Sid

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys are awesome **

The room had a quiet eeriness to it that made everyone uncomfortable. No one really knew how to answer the question asked just moments before, because no one was ready.

No one was ready to say goodbye to their friend, or at least make an attempt at a goodbye. Eugene could barely even stomach to look at him, limp and dull in his hospital gown. Even seeing him without his kilt-like ensemble was saddening. Slowly, they all began to make it back to the waiting room before someone would swallow their fear and enter the white room.

But it was taking quite some time.

"Anyone want food, or something? I'm sort of hungry," Said a stringy-haired boy with a backwards hat resting atop his head. The rest of them shrugged, as if they were out like usual on a Saturday night, deciding where to go for dinner. But their peace-making friend wasn't there with them.

As they passed by the large, double doors that deemed the entrance to the hospital, they realized how dark it had become outside. In contrast to the white lights, hallways, rooms, and clothing in the hospital, none of them would have guessed. Sooner or later, they would have to suck it up and go in that room. They couldn't be there all night.

But for now, they were just hungry.

They all grabbed their small juice boxes and chicken salad sandwiches and sat down at a large table to fit them all. They ate in silence, just like they had sat in silence, and just like they had cried in silence. It was almost as if the whole group was afraid to be vulnerable in front of each other, although they had known each other for more than eleven years. The chicken salad tasted like metal.

One by one, they finished their meals in an unfortunate manner. They all wanted to have some sort of excuse to avoid going into that room and facing their worst fear: saying goodbye.

Out of nowhere, the stringy-haired boy piped up,

"I'm getting this over with," He huffed and got up. The rest followed in suit, back to the waiting room they went. The hallways smelled like metal.

* * *

I am thirteen years old, and I'm in my backyard. Today is not a good day.

It started about three months ago. Abner, my pet pig, had come down with some pig disease that slowly began attacking his heart and brain. Eventually, he wasn't even mobile anymore, and I was devastated. I am devastated.

My pig, one of the best pets I ever had, died on a rainy April afternoon. I sit in my backyard and I cradle my knees to my chest as I watch my friend from elementary school, with his backwards cap and his elongated nose, dig a small hole in my backyard. I tell him I don't feel like digging the hole, so he does it himself.

Unfortunately, this boy was at my house when Abner took his final breaths. He understood my grief. He offered a burial ceremony and funeral, and I gladly accepted.

So here were are, Abner in his homemade coffin at my side and my friend manning the grave. I watch tentatively. He pushes the shovel in the dirt ground, kicks the tip of it with his Converse high top, and scoops it out. Over and over. Push, kick, scoop. Push, kick, scoop.

"Arnold?" He asks, noticing my fascination with the grave digging. I shake my head and look at him.

"Yes?"

"The grave is ready," He says solemnly, eyes big and round. I nod, and pick up my boxed best friend. Slowly, but carefully, I place him in the grave and feel a small tear slip off of the tip of my nose but I inconspicuously wipe it. He doesn't notice.

"Do you want to say a few words?" He asks me. I look down into the grave and I nod.

"Abner," I begin, "You were the best pig in the world. And you were always there for me, and I knew you listened even if you couldn't reply. I never doubted that you listened. You lived a long life for a pig, and a good one too. At least, I hope you feel the same way. I'll make sure this grave is never dug up, no matter how old I get and no matter how far I live away from this boarding house."

I stop, and I breathe. And I cry a little.

"Sid?" I ask him.

"Yeah, Arnold?"

"Where do you think pigs go when they die?" I say, taking a hold of the shovel.

"You know, I bet they go to a huge mud pile in the sky. I honestly do. I wish I could go there, too," He adds the last bit with a little humor in his voice. I laugh wholeheartedly; glad to have a amusing friend with me in my time of need. 

"Well, here we go," I say unsteadily, shoving some of the dug up dirt into the hole. I carefully do my work as I pick up dirt in the shovel, watchfully transfer it over to the hole, and dump it. Shovel, transfer, dump. Shovel, transfer, dump.

I finally finish, and I search the backyard briefly for the cross I made in his honor. The birth date, death date, and name are written neatly on it, and a ribbon is tied messily to the top. 

"He's gone," I mutter. The wind blows swiftly through my hair but I resist the urge to shiver. Sid pats my back.

"It's all right, he'll always be right here with you,"

* * *

I walk into the oddly bright hospital room (for such a dreary situation), and I see him. Wilted and motionless. My breath hitches in my throat but I continue to stare, as if I have no control.

"Arnold," I mutter, unable to formulate any words at the moment. All I can remember is everything he has done for me, and the little I have done in return. My heart takes a beating.

The word Abner comes to my mind. The pig I helped Arnold bury when we were little. Now I'm staring at him, wondering if I'll be at his burial, too. More beats to my heart. It's almost unbearable.

"Do you know what you've done for us?" I ask him, rhetorically of course. Although, I wish he could just spring to life and answer me.

"You've done a lot. More than anyone else has ever done for me, or for the rest of us. Like you were born to do it, you know?"

I sigh and I decide to take my eyes away from Arnold and focus them on something else. The linoleum floor, the metal bars on the cot, the slowly beeping machines, the bedpans, anything. My eyes could not settle on my friend in need. 

Now it's our turn.

He needs us now, more than he ever will. He has spent his whole life living for us and giving us advice, even when we were little. And now we have to return the favor. I once heard that speaking and talking to a comatose patient could help them in the long run.

"You know, Helga hasn't called you football head in days. We kind of miss it," I laugh to myself, "We kind of miss you, actually." My tone becomes serious.

"Of all the people I've met in my life, Arnold, you were the most influential. We may not have been best friends, but hey… I appreciate it. We all do."

The bedpans and the slowly beeping machines couldn't keep my attention anymore. I looked at him again.

His eyelids were bruised, and his chin had a cut that trailed down towards his neck. I try not to notice those, though.

I remember his face when he said goodbye to his pig, and I feel mine looks around the same at the moment, and I even feel tears in their ducts, pleading for me to let them go but I don't. I can't.

Blinking like there is no tomorrow, I turn around and start for the door.

"I'll see ya later, pal,"

And I'm out the door. Everyone looks at me with empathy in their eyes. We may have some differences outside of here, but for right now we are just a bunch of friends suffering from a potential loss of a good friend. We are all here together, whether we like it or not, and we would have to make the best of it. Just like Arnold would have liked us to.

**A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you understood this chapter, I understand it might still be confusing. Anyways! Hopefully the rest of my updates will be this speedy, but don't count too much on it  I figured I'm going to incorporate another 'theme' in this story of mine. If you notice, the two characters who have gone already mention how much Arnold has helped them. The reason behind the random Arnold flashbacks is because he's remembering the times that THEY helped HIM. Just a thought to ponder. Review, please!**


	3. Rhonda

As soon as Sid emerged from Arnold's room, he immediately wanted to get back inside

As soon as Sid emerged from Arnold's room, he immediately wanted to get back inside. A load of bickering and ranting was coming from the cramped waiting room; so much that it was ringing from the walls. Sid squeezed the bridge of his nose in agony, a habit he had picked up over the years, and entered the room. Only few people noticed he had come in.

"Why do you even care, Rhonda? Why are you here in the first place?" Yelled a bitter voice, "Criminy!"

All the rest of the teenagers sat in utter misery. Not only were they in a hospital to see a great friend, but also the arguing and banter was becoming somewhat depressing. Almost everyone had a sour expression on his or her faces. Even Eugene, who was the most positive kid any of them had met, sported a pout.

Deep inside Eugene's poor mind, he wondered if Arnold was watching them with disgust.

Rhonda sat in silence for once in her life and just stared at the blonde girl yelling at her.

"That's what I thought." The girl taunted.

Sid sat down awkwardly, wishing he hadn't walked in on this moment. It was not often that someone could cause Rhonda to be speechless, but now that someone had, it was just downright weird.

"I, uh," She muttered.

"Just save it, we all know what kind of person you are, and we all know you and Arnold weren't really friends to begin with, so it truly puzzles me why you're still here." The blonde just smirked and crossed her arms with triumph. But then she got something she hadn't expected from Rhonda. The girl's 'pity me' expression turned into one of pure sadness.

Rhonda Lloyd began to cry.

"Don't you ever, I mean ever, say that to me again!" She dramatically yelled, "I know damn well how good of friends Arnold and I were and I'm not going to sit here all night to convince you, of all people! You don't even understand, because all you ever did was make fun of him and call him names. I don't get how that even relates to a friendship, so shove it Helga, I don't need you to tell me who I'm friends with and who I am not. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to say goodbye to my _dear_ friend Arnold, and if you or anyone else has a damn problem with it, too bad."

And with that, she stormed into the white room, sniffling and wiping her make-up on the way.

* * *

Time sure has flown. I'm walking into Chaparral High School for the first time, with my backpack heavy with books slung over my back and a smile on my face. Grandpa always talked about high school being the best years of my life, and I sure want to believe him.

With difficulty, I find my way to the freshmen lockers and I see Rhonda Lloyd, an old friend from middle school. I advance towards her, eager to see at least one friend from Hilwood Middle School. She is surrounded by students I don't know, but I perceive that they are upperclassmen.

"Hi Rhonda!" I happily greet her. She stares, along with her new friends. They all seem to be picking me apart in their minds.

"Who's the geek?" One of them says. I recognize him as Peapod Kid, although he goes by Paul now. I still call him Peapod Kid. The other kids laugh as if it is the funniest thing they have heard in their life.

"Yeah, nice kilt freshman, did you get dressed in the dark this morning?" A larger kid asks me, and this time I don't recognize him. However, he must be an upperclassman, since he referred to me as 'freshman', as if that is the vilest insult he could come up with.

I guess it is, considering we're in high school now.

I stand silent, wishing I hadn't come up to see Rhonda at all. I guess some people can really change when they enter high school. 'Best years of your life', huh? I sigh, and I turn around to leave.

"Arnold is a friend of mine, guys, he's not a geek," Rhonda says, uneasily. She seems as though she has no idea what she is saying, or why, but she does it anyways.

They all look back at me, and then to her with disbelieving stares.

"Ew," One of them scoffs. I look down at my new black shoes, wishing they weren't scrutinizing me.

"Arnold," She calls timidly. I glance up at her as she begins to walk towards me, "Those guys can shove off."

My jaw could have dropped straight to the floor. Hell, it could have broken the floor and dug a hole straight to China. Rhonda Lloyd is ditching the cool kids, for me?

She still seems as if it is paining her to do so, but she does it. And that's all that matters to me.

Another bold move; she takes me into a lung-crushing hug, something she has only done once before. A smile erupts onto my face.

"Good to see you, Rhonda." I say with heaps of joy in my voice. She nods, and we walk to class with some sense of relief in our souls. Maybe Grandpa was right.

* * *

I enter the hospital room with tears on my face already. I had told myself I was not going to cry, especially in front of my friends. I wipe my tears, but upon looking at Arnold, peaceful in his cot, I cry more. I knew I would be emotional, I just wish I wasn't.

"Oh dear," I say to myself as I advance on him. Cut, bruised, and with a pale complexion that would make a tanning salon disgusted.

I bite my lip nervously and I tug at my red sweater.

"I hope you didn't hear that conversation out there," I tell him, as he lies motionless. I can see him, and if I wanted to, I can feel him, but he isn't quite there. Life used to fill that small body of his, but now it's filled with something else. Something I have only seen before in my mother.

"Because it was pretty embarrassing, the way I acted. I mean, look at my face!" I point to the obvious streak marks that plague my skin. I half-expect a laugh out of him but I get nothing.

"But hey, I'm here now. That's all that matters," I continue. Although the boy was unconscious, I feel as though I must keep the conversation going. It's just the way I work.

"I mean, I've been sitting out there for the longest time, remembering all these times. Like when I went poor in the fourth grade which caused us to live in your boarding house," I smile at the memory, "And that one time in the sixth grade when I ripped my designer jeans and how upset I was… and then you pitched in to buy me new ones."

I sigh.

"What have I done for you, Arnold?" I ask him, "I mean, hell, you were at my own mother's funeral. You had more comforting words for me than even my own father had." I shudder at yet another memory I hope to forget. My mother's funeral. This same hospital is the one she resided in for the last few months of her life, and losing yet another person here would be the death of me. The funeral itself was horrid, but Arnold had been there to help me out. He is always there to help me out.

I feel myself choke up again.

"You used to be such a do-gooder, and do you remember how much people made fun of you for that? I mean, now we praise you, Arnold. You're almost a hero. I swear, when I grow up and have little Rhonda's, I'll tell them about you."

"And you know," I keep going, "I do believe in a heaven. I know I don't voice my spiritual feelings often, but hey, I just wanted you to know that I think you're going there. I honestly think that. And if you do leave us, let me know what it's like. I mean, the cute boys and the heaven shops, and everything else." I chuckle at my own joke, but it's a laugh without humor.

"Who knows, maybe you'll pull through this after all. From what the doctors have been telling us, it is hard to tell if you'll get out of this alive. But I need you to come back, Arnold."

More tears streak down my face and drip quietly on the floor.

"You have always been the only person I could talk to," I continue, "No one else ever listened! They thought all I could ever love or think about was boys and shopping!"

_Drip, drip, drip._

"But you, you were the only one to help me out. With anything, it didn't even matter. And that, Arnold, is why if you left, we wouldn't be one group anymore. We'd have no one to turn to."

I pause.

"Please, don't go."

_Drip, drip, drip._

And he doesn't move an inch. I finally become silent; I can't say anything else. Slowly, I turn to leave him be, maybe for the last time. And I'm out the door, regretfully.

Everyone turns to face me, and I bolt for the restroom. I can't deal anymore.

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the great reviews! You guys are seriously my heroes. I'm hoping this chapter didn't seem too rushed, because I tried to spend a lot more time on this one, more than the others. And I know, Rhonda might have been a little OOC, but hey, so many years have past. I just hope it was satisfying! Keep the reviews up, my children. ;)**


	4. Phoebe

**A/N: Thanks so much everyone who reviewed!  
**

**Nikki Narcissist: Haha, I know, I'm not a fan of Rhonda either but I decided that is how she would act in that kind of situation! **

**Arnolds Love: I definitely wanted to show a side of Rhonda that no one has really seen and I'm glad you noticed! Sorry it's saddening, I don't notice how depressing I can be until I reread the chapter when it's uploaded.**

**Acosta perez jose Ramiro: Thanks a ton! I love it when selfish and vain characters have at least one moment where they are selfless, so I decided to include it in my last chapter!**

**DP-shrine-in-closet-girl: Helga's turn is coming, don't worry! I'm glad it was your favorite chapter :.**

**Scrubsxxfan: Thanks a ton for the positive comments! **

**Now, onto the story…**

* * *

As Rhonda hurriedly sprints to the restroom, a small, perhaps half-Asian girl sits in the corner of the waiting room. She does not fidget, she does not talk, she does not show any emotion whatsoever. No, Phoebe Heyerdahl doesn't like to subject herself to those sorts of things.

Not even crying. She tells herself to do something, and her body obeys indubitably. And so she told herself not to cry, and she didn't. She felt the pricks behind her eyes but she never once let her guard down to let them come through. And to her knowledge, there was no power to break that guard. None whatsoever.

The rest of the teens sat awkwardly in the room, the blonde one muttering curse words to herself. Again, she had resorted to pulling her lanky legs to her chest and compressing herself into the tightest ball she could. Although this was a bit of a difficulty with the sling her arm was resting in, she managed to successfully close herself off. The rest of them didn't give her a second glance.

Sid even began to doze off. The hours of the night became later and later as each person entered and exited the room. None of them had watches on them, but they knew it was getting late. But it didn't stop them.

They sat, and they dozed, and they waited, and some murmured quietly to others. There were only a few people left to say possible goodbyes, and although the rest of them wanted those select people to get it over with, part of them didn't want to leave the room at all.

They didn't want to go home to a message saying Arnold had died. They wanted to be there, they wanted the moment to last. None of them actually wanted to go home.

"Anyone want coffee?" An African-American boy asked, while yawning simultaneously. Four hands shot up in unison. One did not. The African-American boy looked at his girlfriend, sitting in the corner peeling the white plaster off the walls. He was beginning to get worried, but decided that it was only typical Phoebe, shutting herself off when there was any sort of emotion involved, other than happiness. He thought this while making his way to the cafeteria.

The one hand that did not rise was Phoebe's. She sat in her corner, staring at the white plaster walls, wishing there was some color in this hospital. Everything was white.

"Pheebs?" Came a voice behind her. She turned, facing the blonde girl with the sling. She gave a polite smile, as if to say she didn't want to talk, and then she turned back around to her wall. She liked it because it didn't talk.

"Are you ok?" She asked the small girl. Phoebe nodded her head slowly, not turning around again.

"You don't have to do this, you know. We would be perfectly fine with letting you sit this one out, it's all right."

Phoebe sighed, and stood out of her chair.

"Pheebs, where are you going?"

The rest of the gang turned to watch her step into Arnold's room without a word.

* * *

I am a junior in high school. The last few years have been all I can ask for, but this year… it's something else.

Being in mostly Advanced Placement classes, I have basically already signed my own death warrant. Especially for my junior year of high school.

For every honors kid in his or her junior year, the number one goal is to not get sick. Getting sick is equivalent to failing a class. And guess who gets sick? I do.

And so, I am lying in bed staring at my ceiling, wishing that I could go to school, or at least move. Not only do I have a test in Chemistry, but also I have an essay due today for my Advanced Composition class, and I can't even turn it in.

To top it all off, I'm bored to tears. Grandpa walks in once in a while to check up on me, and I'll flip through the TV channels every hour or so as well, but there is just nothing else to do but sit here and wait for a cure. Fortunately, I hear a knock on the door.

"Come in," I whisper. The door opens, and in comes Phoebe Heyerdahl, my best friend's girlfriend.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, worried as to why she wasn't in school. She is holding a stack of papers and a few books in her feeble arms, and I can barely even see her face behind the pile.

"It's lunchtime, and I figured I might as well come give you your homework," She says with a struggle, while putting down the stack with a slam on my desk.

"You didn't have to, you know." I mutter, barely audibly.

"Hey, I know what it's like to be sick and miss class. I missed two days of school in a row last year, and I failed Honors Algebra!" She adds, with a polite laugh. I would laugh along with her, but it hurt. Quietly, she takes a chair from my computer desk and sits close to my bed, with a book in her hand.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to read the American History assignment to you, is that all right?" She timidly asks.

"You really don't have to, Phoebe, I'll be okay," I tell her, trying to be convincing. But she doesn't budge.

"Chapter one…"

About fifteen minutes later, we finish with the first chapter. I can barely concentrate, or keep awake, and I hope that Phoebe fails to notice. However, she isn't even looking at me, she's looking directly behind my head. I stare at her peculiarly before turning around to see what she is gawking at.

There, I have a small picture frame with a Polaroid of my parents inside. They look very happy together, with a little me in their arms. Phoebe looks saddened.

"They were nice people, huh?" She asks very quietly. I shrug my shoulders, seemingly nonchalant.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not too sure. I was only three when they left."

"Here, let me see that picture," She reaches for the small photo frame and she holds it in her hand with care. Silently, she studies the picture.

"You look a lot like your father, you know," She tells me. I mutter a 'yeah' in response, not sure what else to say to a comment like that. Fortunately, Phoebe has a way of making this situation somewhat comfortable. Although I've never really talked to Phoebe on a personal level, she is the kind of person who I picture myself getting close to.

"What do you think happened to them?" She interrupts my thoughts with the question that has bore into my mind for the past thirteen years.

"You know, this might be kind of silly, but I think they are out there somewhere. I'm not sure where, or why they don't keep in contact with Grandpa and I, but I think they are alive." I say hesitantly. I have never even told Gerald that I think they are still alive.

"It's not silly at all," She replies very quietly. I can barely hear her. "I think they're alive, too. I mean, I know I didn't know them or anything, but it's just a feeling I have."

"That helps, really. I never talk to anyone about this kind of stuff, not even Gerald. It's hard. I love Grandpa and Grandma and the boarders but I sometimes wish I lived like a normal family, with a mom and dad and a regular house."

I feel a familiar prick behind my eyes, and I don't know why. I stop myself from thinking about my parents every time it comes up, and I thought that would make me immune to any sad emotions that came with the thoughts.

"Are you okay?" Phoebe asks me. I blink away the tears and I nod. Without any sort of notice, she envelops me in a light hug, as if she's telling me to let go of all the emotions I have bottled up within the last thirteen years of my life. And I do.

It feels weird, but Phoebe's timid grasp on me makes me feel somewhat all right about everything.

* * *

I walk into the hospital room with billions of emotions floating around inside me, but I stay completely stoic. Even in front of Arnold, in a comatose state, I keep my eyes glued to the floor and my hands behind my back. The linoleum, I notice, is also white. Damn this place.

You can do this, Phoebe. Just keep the tears in and look at him. It's not a big deal, just pretend he's asleep, or better yet, just pretend it's not him at all. You can do it, just look at him.

And I do.

He looks like a rag doll that has been thrown around too much.

His body limp, and his eyes shut so peacefully that he could already be dead and we just don't know it. But the machine that beeps monotonously tells me that he isn't. Could have fooled me.

The machine's beeping is awful slow.

I painstakingly rip my eyes away from Arnold's half-corpse and I begin to pick a hangnail on my thumb. I'm not completely sure what to say to him. He can't hear me, so it's basically futile to try. But another part of me begs to differ.

"I, uh…"

So much for that idea. I clear my throat and try again.

"I guess we never really talked that much before our junior year. But ever since then, I've actually considered you my best friend." I stop for a few seconds.

"That sounded totally cheesy, I know. I'm sorry. I'm not really good with talking to people, especially when they can't talk back. Anyways," I feel around for the piece of paper in my pocket, "I brought something for you. Well, it's not really a present but you get the idea."

I carefully unfold the paper and I flatten it out in front of me. Clearing my throat uneasily, I begin to read him my favorite poem called 'Peace' by Rupert Brooks.

"Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,  
And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,  
With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,  
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,  
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,  
Leave the sick hearts that honor could not move,  
And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,  
And all the little emptiness of love!" By now I begin to feel tears collecting in their ducts. I stop reading, I stop looking at the page, I stop breathing.

Nothing can break this barrier. Nothing. I open my quivering mouth and I begin to read the rest of the poem,

"Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,  
Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,  
Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;  
Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there  
But only agony, and that has ending;  
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death."

When I'm done, I swear I can see Arnold's lips curl into a smile. But maybe it was just the tears in my eyes that blurred my vision. One hot tear made it's way down my face. The first tear in years. I have broken.

"Goodbye."

**A/N: I'm so sorry it took me long to get this out! I was swamped with homework and other such activities. Anyways, thanks so much for reading, I hoped to make this chapter more introverted because of Phoebe's POV and the way I portrayed her as someone who doesn't talk much. So please review and tell me what is going on in your heads! You guys rock!**


	5. Gerald

**A/N: You guys are so great! I'm glad people like this story because I enjoy writing it! I just wish I wasn't close to the end. Wah. Oh well, enjoy!**

Phoebe was very apprehensive as she left Arnold's room. She tried her best to wipe the tears off of her face but there were still traces of sadness in her eyes. She walked out with her head bowed down, but it was no use. The African-American boy sensed her depression and was immediately at her side with his arm around her thin shoulders.

"Phoebe, are you all right?" He asked her before taking a sip of coffee he held in his free hand. She nodded and sniffled.

"Don't worry, it's not a big deal."

The boy sighed. Phoebe was so stubborn at times; he just wanted to shake her. But instead, he turned her around and took the small girl in a reassuring hug. He rested his chin on her shoulder and rubbed her back gently, knowing she appreciated actions more than words. She sniffled again.

Pulling back, he carefully placed his hands on the sides of her face and kissed her forehead lovingly. A pleasant smile graced her face and the two walked back to the waiting room to see their friends.

It seemed as though the mood of the waiting room had grown worse and worse with each person to say goodbye to Arnold. By now, both Rhonda and Sid had dozed off (in each others laps, I might add), Helga looked absolutely ghostly, and Eugene had begun picking lint off of everything, and everyone. It had to be the wee hours of the morning by now, but they had no idea.

Most of their coffee cups were empty, but the caffeine didn't really work.

The boy and Phoebe took a seat in the very corner of the waiting room where Phoebe had been sitting before she went into Arnold's room. Knees to her chest, Phoebe sat in one chair as he kept his arm wrapped her shoulder. He noted that it was shaking slightly.

Trailing a finger on her knee tentatively, he spoke:

"How does he look?"

Phoebe gulped. She didn't even want to think about being in that room in the first place, let alone how Arnold looked.

"Like a rag doll, Gerald. You could barely tell he was alive," She replied regretfully. She felt tears but she fought them triumphantly. Gerald's grip on her shoulder tightened just a little bit.

"A rag doll?" He gulped, voice shaky. Gerald had never been face to face with a dying loved one, and now he wasn't sure he could do it.

But he had to. It was Arnold, for God's sake. His best friend. His comrade. His partner in crime.

Gerald tried his hardest not to picture him in there, limp and lifeless. Instead he tried to not think about him at all. He stared at Phoebe, her eyes lowered and her breath quickening by the second. He couldn't look at her, either.

Instead, he glanced at the TV that was entertaining itself, for all the other teens' eyes were on the floor in grief, or they were closed. A newscaster straightened papers on his desk and continued to spread bad news to the world. That wasn't helping, either.

"I have to go… somewhere." He told Phoebe abruptly as he removed his hand from her shoulder and left the helpless girl burying her face in her knees. He hurried to the nearest restroom, which was thankfully empty, and stared into the mirror.

His eyes filled with heartache. He clenched his hands on each side of the sink and stared into his own face for quite some time. He had to go in there, he had to see Arnold. He pushed his feet to take a step towards the door, or even budge at all, but to no avail.

Turning on the hot water, Gerald let it scald his hand before he splashed the liquid on his face, hoping to calm down and breath. Over everything else, he had to remember to hold his head high and just breath, and everything would be all right. And so he closed his eyes as his face still dripped of warm water and he breathed in deeply, and let it go. It felt good. He did it again; one deep inhalation and one equally deep exhalation.

He was ready to say goodbye.

* * *

I am 17 years old, and it is damn cold outside.

The winter winds blow snowflakes at Gerald and I, as if to urge us to go back the way we came. We walk against the wind towards the boarding house with bags of presents in our hands. Christmas is soon, and we are walking back from the new shopping center a few blocks away. But by now, I'm regretting not taking the car. _It's only a few blocks away, might as well get some exercise,_ I had told Gerald. So much for that idea.

"I'm telling you man, Helga is into you," Gerald yells over the howling current. We just ran into the two in the shopping center, also picking up presents, and Helga was, well, different. Her insults had been half-hearted and she could barely look at me. And just the week before at Rhonda's annual Christmas themed party, she had been giving me odd looks and she avoided me the whole time. Hey, I know I'm not her favorite person, but she usually at least hangs around me and everyone else.

"I'm sure she just wasn't feeling well, or something," I reply just as harshly. I can barely hear my own thoughts over the gusts. We are even lucky to point out the boarding house in the mere distance. Picking up the pace, we brace ourselves against the frigid winter and take those last few steps to the door.

With great difficulty, we open the door and enter the boarding house, which smells of cookies and hot chocolate. We simultaneously sigh and drop our bags, as if letting a huge load off of our backs. Grandpa appears from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate in his feeble hands.

"Hello booooys," He says in an odd tone. He seems to almost be slurring. I apprehensively wave and reach for my hot chocolate. He looks at me as if he wishes to speak.

"Uuhh," He mumbles. I give him a strange look. Unexpectedly, his right arm drops and the hot chocolate I was reaching for smashes to pieces on the ground. Grandma rushes in from Ernie's room with paint covering her hands. She has been working on a mural on one of his walls for days now.

Grandpa is staring into space. His right arm still dangles at his side. Almost as unexpectedly as the dropping of the hot chocolate, he drops himself. His right leg folded from underneath him and he was out cold on the floor.

Everything is blurry. I hear Gerald yelling for someone to call 911.

I blank out.

"Arnold? Are you awake?" Someone asks me. I mumble an incoherent sentence and the person takes it as a 'yes'. I flutter my eyelids open and look around at my own living room. Gerald is sitting on the edge of the couch with a concerned look on his face.

"Where's Grandpa?" I ask, this time more coherently. Gerald looks pained.

"The hospital, we just wanted to wait for you to regain consciousness before I took you over there."

Abruptly I sit up, almost too quickly, and my head spins like a dreidel. But I ignore the feeling and I push Gerald from the couch.

"Come on, let's get going," I yell, stumbling over my own two feet as we make our way towards the car. Gerald holds one of my shoulders steadily in place, and sweeps my legs out from under me with the other arm. I let my head loll backwards as he carries me out the door, simply because I don't have the strength to hold it up. Gerald doesn't mind. He places me in the passenger seat with care, and rushes to the wheel.

"Gerald?" I slur as he starts the ignition.

"Yeah man?"

"Thanks." I mumble. He smiles very, very briefly and slams on the gas. I feel the back of my head melting into the seat and I close my eyes, hoping that we don't die in the process of getting to the hospital. In a matter of minutes, we reach Sunray Hospital and I can almost visualize the tires of my old, beat up car smoking from the speed. Cautiously, we walk towards the hospital doors and almost run right into a woman in a wheel chair, holding a newborn baby in her arms.

It's odd how this place is an entrance into the world, and an exit. All in one.

Gerald and I rush to the front desk and frantically ask where Grandpa is. The nurse walks us to the room slowly, ever so slowly. We finally arrive at his room, and I peer in to see Grandma already by his bedside. Although she is a very old woman, she never really looked very aged. Until now, that is.

"Hi," I say. Gerald also enters the room and gulps. She doesn't reply, instead she just gives me a half-nod. And at once, all three of us stare at Grandpa with distressed expressions. He looks very delicate.

Quietly, a nurse opens the door holding a chart in her hand.

"Hello, are you the family?" She asks.

"Yes," Grandma replies, "We are." She doesn't even exclude Gerald.

"Well, it says here on the chart that your grandfather had a stroke due to Atrial fibrillation. It is fairly common in people of his age, but that doesn't mean it isn't severe." She adds that last part in a sad tone. We nod our heads in understanding. She points at Grandma and motions her to follow her.

"I'm going to need to discuss some things with you, miss."

Grandma follows obediently, leaving Gerald and I alone with unconscious Grandpa. For some reason, I'm not crying.

"Gerald, you can go home if you want to," I tell him, making sure he knows he doesn't have to be here with me. He looks at me in disbelief.

"You're kidding, right? Come on, man, that's messed up. I wouldn't leave you here, you know that. And I care about Grandpa, too. I'm staying here as long as you stay, if that's all right with you."

I smile without any happiness.

"Of course it's all right with me. I appreciate it."

The doctors conclude that Grandpa has a type of irregular heartbeat, which increases the risk of blood clots forming in the heart. Gerald and I weren't completely sure what this meant, but from the look on Grandma's face, we knew it wasn't good.

We end up spending the rest of the week moping about in the hospital. Christmas is in just a few days.

So whenever Grandpa was awake, Gerald and I talked to him, played cards with him, whatever we could do just to entertain him.

"In my day, this type of weather was nothing! We walked to school in snow up to our knees, and walked all the way back in the same conditions. We would soak in hot water for hours after that, let me tell ya. Ridiculous!" He tells us. We let him ramble on about the good old days and we nod our heads at the appropriate times. And it's actually pretty interesting, too.

But I think the only thing keeping me sane inside this hospital is knowing my best friend is right there beside me.

* * *

I leave the bathroom in a hurry and realize that it's now or never. If I wait around any longer, I'll lose it. So I burst into Arnold's room, somewhat short of breath, and recognize that Phoebe is right. A limp rag doll lies in the hospital bed, attached to machines galore.

My eyes widen with each peak of the needle on the machine next to him, knowing that at any moment it might straighten out into one thin, straight line. I feel the monotonous beep ring in my ears. It's hard to believe that Arnold is right on the fence, in between life and death. Just one small tip to either side would determine his fate. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge.

"Man…" I breathe while scratching the back of my neck tentatively. I've never seen him look so motionless before.

Slowly, I approach the edge of the bed and I place my warm hands on the freezing bed rails. His eyelids are a purple-gray hue and the rest of his face is pallid and washed out. I concentrate as hard as I can to remember him as he used to be.

But it stings like a violent wind to know my memory depends on some faulty image in my mind. This is Arnold now, and if he doesn't live through this, this is how Arnold will be. A ghost trapped in a lifeless body, begging to be let out. Boldly, I reach out my hand and touch his arm. It has no temperature.

"Arnold," I let his name slip off my tongue like butter. I take a look at his face one more time to realize that his tips of his mouth are almost pointed up in a content grin. It made the situation a little more bearable.

"Man, you can't leave us like this. Not now. We're graduating… you and I were going to move in together, remember? You can't leave now. We were going to spend the rest of our lives being best friends. Why did fate choose now?" I pause for a few moments.

"What about Helga? She's out that waiting room curled up in a ball. She's devastated. We all are."

I watch the little point reach its peak a few more times, followed by a low beep. I keep expecting it to stop all together, but it doesn't let me down. Just like Arnold never let me down.

He's a trooper, alright.

I let go of his arm apprehensively, and notice that I was gripping it a little too tightly and his already pale skin outlined my handprint for just a few seconds before it faded away. I sigh heavily and close my eyes.

"You're going to come back, I know it. You've never let us down, and we've got many more years in our lives for you to let us down. Just not now, and not in this way. Anything but this."

The little point keeps peaking and beeping. My faith is raises with each time it hits the top.

"I'm not giving up on this. And deep down, I know you aren't either. I don't know how I know it, but I just do. Trust me on this. I love you man, you know that? It'll all be okay."

Part of me feels like I'm trying to convince myself that it will all be okay, instead of Arnold. I shake that feeling off.

"This isn't a goodbye. This is more of a 'see you later'."

And with that, I rest my hand on his arm once more, and I exit the room.

**A/N: Wow, finally! This chapter took me so long because it was very hard to think up a scenario for Gerald, and I'm sorry if that part was a little messy/vague. Not to worry, hopefully the next chapter will make it clearer. Anyways, review please! Thanks a ton for all your support! I hope to get out the next chapter sooner than it took me to do this one.**


	6. Helga

**A/N: All right, guys, here we go. The chapter you have been waiting for: Helga! I really hope to make this chapter more emotional and lengthy than the others. So, hopefully this doesn't take too long to write. I really appreciate everyone reviewing, and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the rest! Thanks again!  
**

**Oh, head's up: There is some mild cursing in this section, but not a ton. Just making sure you know.**

Gerald emerged from the hospital room with a glint of hope in his heart. He was sure Arnold would make it through this. Although, it seemed as if the rest of his friends were not as convinced.

Phoebe lay motionless in the same exact corner he had left her in. Walking towards her, she shot her head up and smiled briefly. He took his rightful spot beside his girlfriend and he let her rest her head on his thin shoulder. He noted that her breathing was somewhat off. Was she… crying?

"Phoebe?" He asked, tilting his head so he could see her face. Sure enough, there were a few tear droplets on her face. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit of debris in my eye, it's not a big deal." She replied in a dreary tone. Gerald didn't believe her for a moment, but he knew how much she hated to cry. So, he let her convince herself that there was something in her eye.

Across the room sat Helga G. Patacki. Her arm rested in a pale blue sling as she sat with her knees to her chest. She thanked her lucky stars she would be able to take that sling off in just a matter of days. To her, the pain had subsided almost completely, but the doctor made her keep it on anyways. However, she broke those rules and took it off while driving.

The rest of the room was awake now, and they all seemed to be staring right at her. She was the last of the group to say goodbye, but she wasn't so sure anymore.

Arnold. The love of her life was in that room, barren and empty. Not once in her life had she seen that boy spiritless and she wasn't sure if she wanted to. At any moment in time, she could tell everyone she wasn't saying goodbye and that they should get going, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. With her good arm, she kept reaching into her jean pocket and patting her car keys but she never had the courage to pull them out.

And so she sat, miserable in that cold, plastic seat, wishing she had the guts to face her worst fear: loss. It didn't help that being in that hospital made her weak as hell. If there was one thing she hated the most, it was being vulnerable. Especially in front of the people she's known her whole life.

She thought of how amazing it was that one car crash could bring out emotions in people that she had never seen before. Even Rhonda Lloyd was blubbering like a whale, and the last time anyone had seen her do that was when she went poor.

And Eugene? The one kid that Helga thought would always be cheering everyone up, or telling everyone not to worry or fret; the one kid who was supposed to guarantee Arnold would live through this. He wasn't making a sound.

Sid sat next to Rhonda in a daze. He was staring off into the white abyss that was the lobby with his jaw slack. Helga wasn't sure if he was sleeping with his eyes open or he was just speechless. His white t-shirt had a few black stains smeared across it from Rhonda's flyaway eye makeup, and even his own face was clammy with the residue of tears.

Phoebe and Gerald were in the corner with their arms wrapped around each other. Phoebe's back was jolting up and down in violent motions. Helga had never really seen Phoebe cry, and it almost jerked some emotion out of the blonde. Almost.

Helga let out a deep sigh and looked at the sling her arm rested in, and the bruises that crawled up her bicep. They were plum purple with a hint of yellow surrounding them. In any other situation, it would have been cool to show off said bruises, but not in this one. Whenever she looked at the spots, she shuddered at the memory that followed them.

After a few minutes, she looked towards Phoebe, who was surprisingly looking right back at her. Through those foggy glasses, she could see Phoebe's piercing eyes. They were telling her something. They were telling her to go and face her fear in that room. Come to think of it, everyone was looking at her in the same way. It wasn't that type of stare that said 'get a move on, I want to go home'. No, the intent looks were looks of empathy and approval. They were telling her not to worry, and to just go with it.

She grumbled an incoherent thought to herself. Should she get it over with, even though the pangs in her stomach were telling her not to? Or should she pull those begging keys out of her pocket and walk out of that hospital, hoping Arnold lives through this crisis?

Slowly, she stood. Her friends all looked almost relieved. But then she did something they didn't expect. She pulled out her car keys.

"Helga, where are you going?" Gerald asked in a semi-aggressive tone. Phoebe placed an arm on his shoulder, as if to tell him to calm down.

"Home, where else?" She replied, somewhat nonchalant. Almost everyone stood at once to surround her, but she pushed her way out. She was just outside the sliding doors that signaled the entrance to the hospital when she felt a feeble hand touch her good shoulder. It was Phoebe.

"What do you think you're doing?" Phoebe asked shrilly. Helga hadn't heard her use that tone of voice for quite some time.

"What do you think this was, a soap opera episode? Helga, you are in love with that boy. If I let you leave now, you will never forgive yourself. Do you understand? Arnold is dying in there. And if you don't have your proper goodbye, I know you'll be kicking yourself for years on end. I know you." Phoebe spoke. Helga groaned, knowing she was right but didn't want to willingly admit it.

"Just think about it, Helga. I know you'll make the right decision, and when you do, I'll be inside waiting for you."

And with that, Phoebe disappeared behind the sliding doors, leaving Helga to her own thoughts.

So Phoebe was right. She would never forgive herself, and she would never forget it, either. And she was in love with Arnold. But… didn't that make it all the more harder to say goodbye? Looking at what it had done to the rest of her friends, she shuddered. She couldn't be like them; she couldn't show that sort of sentiment. It was either anger, or happiness, and that was it.

But she couldn't fool herself anymore. The love of her life was inside that hospital, possibly taking his last breaths, and she was outside in the cold, wondering if she should even say goodbye. It wasn't right. She had to be in there. There was no telling how much time was left for her.

Cautiously, she walked through those automatic doors and back into the lobby where everyone looked positively restless. When they saw her enter, they all lit up like lanterns.

She was ready.

* * *

I'm 18 years old, and this might be the worst day of my life.

I feel the squishy grass beneath my polished black shoes as I walk up to where the meager wood podium stands. Exhaling deeply, I try to think of where to start. I remember doing this once before for my own pig, Abner, but this is different. This is for Grandpa.

"My grandfather, 'Steely Phil', might just be the biggest inspiration I've had in my lifetime," I begin, "and possibly the most accomplished. I'm very glad to say he lived a long, successful life. Sure, he only made it to the sixth grade," This evokes some laughter from the crowd, "But he was also a private in World War Two, and a champion Chinese checkers player. He was my hero."

I pause and I take a deep breath. I'm not sure if I can make my way through this one.

"Grandpa was like a father to me. He helped me through my adolescent and teen years, with some not-so-great advice, but at least I knew he tried. That was the trait I admired most about Grandpa. He wasn't the greatest at anything and everything, but he tried. I remember for my junior prom, I couldn't find a date to save my life. So every time he left the boarding house, he kept a picture of me in his breast pocket, and when he saw a girl who was seemingly in my age range, he would show the picture and ask her for me. Sure, it was embarrassing and proved to be pointless, but I knew he cared that much just to make me happy for my first prom."

This story elicits even more chuckles, especially from Grandma. She chortles through the tears.

"Or what about that stage he went through just a few years ago when he thought he was an artist? He ended up breaking part of the second story floor due to trying to sculpt a huge rectangle of marble. We had a hole in the ceiling for weeks."

I can see Oskar and Suzie amidst the fog, chuckling and nodding their heads in reminiscence. Their hands are clasped together for dear life.

"But in all seriousness, I have to say Grandpa has had the biggest impact in my life. And I never really got to tell him how much he has helped me grow into the man I am right now. And not only has he impacted me, but he has impacted everyone around him with the light he brought into out lives. A light that will never burn out or fade away. His words will ring in my mind until the day I die."

I pause once more. This time, I feel tears in their ducts and my heart wrenches. Hands shaking, I continue,

"He had so much passion and fire in him, even in his late years. Everyone who knew him knew that much. And part of me believes it was his passion that kept him alive for so long. In those last few days at the hospital, he told me something very important. He said, 'Short man, after all the advice I have given you in your life, remember this. Don't you ever doubt yourself, or regret anything. If I had any regret in my life, I wouldn't be living right now. Everything you do, do it to the fullest and never, and I mean never, look back at your life and wish you did it differently.' And I will never forget those words. Not for a million years. This is for you, Grandpa."

I walk towards Grandma, who is holding a handful of forget-me-nots that were picked this morning from the garden she started outside the boarding house. She called it "Phil's Garden". I pluck the handful from her and I place it on the wood casket as it begins to lower. Loud clapping follows, but I can't concentrate. All I can concentrate is watching that chunk of my life lowering below the grass.

A grandfather and a father all in one.

I feel hot tears on my cheeks and rolling off the bridge of my nose but I don't bother to wipe them. I let them tumble to the ground and soak the soil beneath my feet. Gerald, Phoebe, Rhonda, Sid, and Eugene all surround me, and I feel their gentle hands on my back. I look up at my friends, seeing sympathetic faces, and some tears out of Gerald, and nothing else.

I can almost see blackness coming in from the corners of my eyes, but I try to ignore it. I walk away from my friends and towards a large oak tree just a few feet away and I stand under it. For the moment, I just want to be alone, but that doesn't work out too well for me.

"Hey, football head."

I spin around and look at Helga, who is suddenly taken aback. I forget that I have tears all over my face, but I don't really care at the moment. I just want her to get over with the insults so I can go home.

"Listen, I think that was… a very nice speech you gave." She whispers, almost as if she is in pain. I know how hard it is for Helga to give compliments, or cheer someone up, so I give her kudos for at least trying.

"Thanks, Helga. I'm glad you came," I reply. I half-expect her to leave, but she leans against the sturdy tree trunk and sighs.

"You know, I didn't really know your grandpa but he seemed like a pretty cool guy."

I nod and look up at her stern face.

"I just wish he wasn't gone."

"Arnold, try not to think like that too much, okay? If I'm ever going to give you a suggestion in your life, it's that you should learn to let go of things. I'm not saying don't reminisce, or anything like that. But wishing things were back will never help, trust me."

I look at her, and I do something unexpected. I smile.

"You know, I was expecting some sort of sympathetic crap or something. But thanks, that is a good suggestion."

Her forehead loosens a bit at the thank-you I gave her. Picking at some grass blades from her dress, she continues to speak.

"You kept your composure up there, you know? Man, if that was me, I would be yelling or something. I guess I just don't deal with loss very well."

I chuckle at the thought of Helga giving a eulogy.

"Well, thanks I guess. When you've known him for as long as I have, it just kind of comes easily."

For some reason, my tone when I speak is warbling and I'm pretty sure I'm about to cry some more. Helga looks at me with a panicked look; I know she isn't equipped to handle an emotional person. That's why Phoebe is her best friend, I guess. So, I try my hardest to not start blubbering right there, but it doesn't work. I just feel the tears come and slide down my face. I wipe them away quickly.

"Listen, it's okay to cry you know. You seem like you're in pain trying to stop yourself, or something." She tells me. I nod, but for some reason I still feel weird crying in front of her. Unexpectedly, she places a hand on my shoulder and grips it. I can tell this is very hard for her, but she doesn't remove her hand. The warmth of it is somewhat soothing, so I don't mind either.

And so more tears collect in the pockets of my eyes and fall down to my shoes. I sharply inhale and my voice quavers as I begin to speak.

"I think I'll go home now… do you want a ride?" I ask her. She looks over at Phoebe, who I assume was her ride here, and she motions to Phoebe that she will call her.

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

Quietly we walk to my car and get in. I take the time to wipe my face on my sleeve and I start up the car. A Beatles CD is quietly playing in the player, and I turn it down abruptly.

"Are you okay with The Beatles?" I ask Helga, who is trying to maneuver the seat controls.

"What? Oh, yeah, I love them."

I nod, and I turn it up. The car fills with the light picking of a guitar, signaling the start of "Here Comes The Sun". We drive in silence for a few moments, with the exception of Helga sniffling every few moments. The frigid winter must have gotten to her. I turn down the music for a moment.

"Hey, I appreciate you talking to me back there. I know that sounds kind of cheesy, but I'm so used to the typical 'I'm really sorry for your loss' and it was just nice to actually get _something _out of someone."

_'Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter…'_

"It's no problem. I didn't really know what I was saying anyhow, but I'm glad it made sense." She chuckles a bit and we become silent once again. I hum to the tune flowing from my stereo and I tap my fingers on the wheel. Anything to get my mind off of the funeral.

'_Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces__…'_

"And… you know, if you want…" Her voice trails off into an incoherent mumble. She's staring out the window intently as she talks.

"What?"

"If you want, you can, you know, talk to me about it. Only if you want to, though." She says quietly, still looking out the window. I can't even see her face. She seems embarrassed.

"That'd be nice." I tell her in a sincere tone.

"Just don't expect me to be your own personal shrink, football head." She says half-heartedly. I chuckle, glad to see the old Helga shining through.

_'Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting…'_

I begin to go through an intersection when I see a man who is clearly in a rush, seeing as he is doing 45 and nearing the same intersection I am passing through without stopping at the stop sign. By now, I'm already nearing the middle of the intersection, and next thing I know, I hear an earsplitting crash.

I feel like I'm bursting like an orange firework at the seams.

Obscenities flow through the air like a breeze, and I feel Helga grabbing a hold of my wrist. My hearing slowly begins to tune out, along with my eyesight.

Is this happening? Am I going to be gone? Please, God, don't let me be leave.

Everything is quite except for the breathing. But then the breathing isn't even audible.

And I'm gone.

_'Here comes the sun; it's all right...'_

* * *

I enter the room with my eyes glued to my black high-top Converse, not daring to look up at what is waiting for me. A small bleeping noise fills the air around me. It's so insignificant and quiet, but it's the bearer of bad news. One missed bleep and he might be dead. I shudder to myself as I anticipate that moment to come at any given time. Hell, it could happen right now.

Or now.

Or now.

I need to stop thinking like this. If I sit in this room and anticipate something to go wrong, it most likely will. So I stop listening to the beep and I look up to see Arnold. I exhale deeply, just trying to make sure I'm still breathing.

He looks… dead. Absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent dead dead dead dead.

Remind me why I'm in here again?

I can feel my face contort into something unexplainable as I move closer.

"Oh, wow." I say to myself as I remember the last time I saw him. The funeral. Not once have I ever had the courage to talk to Arnold in a non-threatening tone. Ever. And the one time I do, a damn car hits us. I'm never doing something like that again.

"I want to talk to you and tell you goodbye, but this is kind of weird." I say to Arnold. There is no response. I sigh, and I start talking once more.

"I guess the reason I've always thought of you differently, Arnold, is because of one thing. You made me feel something other than resentment. You made me feel nauseous, yes, but you made me feel restless, too. And guilty, and excited, and just recently, sadness. Of course, you never knew when I was feeling these things but they were all there. And no one has ever done that for me, not even Phoebe. And you made me feel a sense of love, too. I mean, I was a little girl with parents who didn't give two shits about her, and somehow, you were the first person to show me love. Even when I pissed you off, or insulted you, or whatever."

I pray to whoever is up there that Arnold isn't subconsciously hearing this speech. It's way too sappy.

"I know, that sounds cheesy. But being called 'Helga' for once instead of 'Olga' or any insulting nickname was nice. And no matter how many times I pranked you, you stuck by me through the most important years of my life. And, I guess I can say that means a lot. Really. And it means a lot to all those other people out there," I point out the window, "because you were always there for them, too. You were there for everyone, although I never thought it was possible. I mean, can you see them out there right now? I think you would laugh, I really do. Rhonda looks like a reincarnated corpse; Eugene is going in between obsessively plucking lint off of people, and picking at his chapped lips. He's pretty out of it," I chuckle to myself, but then my tone grows serious, "Phoebe… I mean, she hasn't cried in ten years. And she's out there sniveling and whimpering. I've never seen her so broken up. And all Gerald can do is rub her back and hope."

I take a pause and realize that I feel stupid, sitting here talking to a dead body. Excuse me, comatose body. I need to stop believing he's dead.

"Dead… wow. I always kind of associated that word with old people, but you? A teenager, about to go to college with six of his closest friends? That's not right. That's just not how it's supposed to be. And what did you do to deserve this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing! All you've done is give, give, give, and now you're getting something taken away from you. It's not _fair_."

I realize that I'm gripping the side handlebars of his cot and that my breathing is getting faster. I feel the need to calm down and not be angry but I can't stand it.

"I mean, if anything it should be me in your position. What have I done for you, or anyone else for that matter? Hell, what has anyone else done for anyone else? A whole load of nothing. And yet you're the one in the hospital bed, withering away right before all of our damn eyes. Whoever is up there sure likes to bully innocent people. It's not right…"

I feel hot, angry tears bubbling under the surface but I don't dare to let them go. I grip the handlebars for dear life, as if that is going to do anything. I can feel my arms go into a violent tremor, but I keep gripping.

"What else can I say? I miss you? Yes, of course I miss you. Although I'd rather stick a pen in my arm than tell you that. But it's true. All because you were the pair of ears that _listened_. I had so many people surrounding me but they were all idle relationships. No one listened to what anyone else had to say, except you. You listened. And you cared, and you helped, and you solved. I think so many people are shook up because you might have been the only pure, selfless and considerate person left in this world. At least, I know that's why I'm so shook up."

And it's true. He seems to be the only person left in this world who gives a damn about other people.

That's it. I can feel my body break down. I can't think about this anymore; I can't think about the one person who cared for me and listened to me who might be dying right in front of my eyes. I feel those angry tears on the surface, and they fall straight from my eyes onto his hand. There are only a few of them, but I'm still somewhat ashamed. Sure, he can't see me crying, but I've never really cried in front of other people.

Slowly, I back up from the cot and I let my hands drop heavily to my sides like bags of sand.

I try to search for words but they won't grace my lips. They are stuck in the back of my throat; along with every feeling Arnold has ever given me, swirled into one giant lump that has lodged itself in my esophagus. I try to swallow this lump but it won't go down. I don't know what else to do, so I open my mouth to talk.

"I…" I choke out as I can feel the lump rising. "love you. I love you, Arnold. Yes, me, Helga G. Patacki, loves Arnold."

And now I can breath. The lump dissolves and drops back down into the deepest part of my heart, where it belongs. And I look up at Arnold to see the 'old' him. The lively boy that brings a light to any situation. Only for a second, though. And then it's back to a hollow body, void of anything living. I would kill to see him like he used to be, just once more.

"Goodbye."

Although I said it, I stay in my place for just a few more moments, examining his face and everything I remember about it. And then I turn, and I leave with a sense of despondence and grief that I've never felt before.

**A/N: Wow. So this is the product of obsessively working for the past few days. It might not be perfect, but I'm happy. Anyways, let me know what you think, and tell me one thing: Do you want Arnold to live or die? I really just want to know your opinions! Anyways, review, and let me know what's going on in your minds! Thanks.**


	7. Life and Death

**Faithful Readers – I cannot express how sorry I am that I have neglected writing fanfiction for so many months! It started like this: School was coming to an end, so I had to study like crazy for finals. After all that was done, I am part of a non-profit organization that takes up a large chunk of my summer! Being busy all the time, when I come home, I am definitely not in the mood to write fanfiction, which causes me to neglect this story as much as I have been! Anyways, I just reread it and have decided on a fate for dear Arnold.  
**

**I actually had to come up with a pros and cons list for both 'living' and 'dying' (I'm weird like that!) and I have finally come up with a decision. I hope it's a good one.**

Helga emerged from the room with a look of disdain on her face. The friends that waited gave her empathetic stares, which comforted her to an extent.

And that was it. They had all said their goodbyes to their friend, now all they had left to do was go home. Truth be told, none of them really wanted to see each other at the moment. Everybody in the room felt that they needed some alone time now.

Hesitantly, they stood and stretched. In silent agreement, the teens headed for the door with their keys in hand. After a series of hugs and farewells, they were all going in different directions.

Eugene started his station wagon and slowly made his way out of the parking lot. His head spun and his eyes drooped but he couldn't stop thinking of Arnold and his white complexity and battered physique. The image would stay in his mind forever. He arrived at his house just minutes later. All the lights were off and not even the porch light was lit anymore. He had forgotten how late it was.

He crept into the house slowly and made his way to his bedroom. His mind was still cluttered with morbid thoughts and images as he crawled into his bed. He shut his lids tightly, hoping that sleep would overcome him soon but he was not lucky. The rest of the night was long as he tossed and turned in bed, wondering if that heart monitor was still going strong. He prayed that it was.

The sun rose slowly but surely within hours. He had not slept a wink.

Sid watched the rest of the posse depart as he stood outside the hospital, smoking a cigarette. Rhonda accompanied him, claiming that she didn't feel like going home. For a while, they watched the bare sky in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't pleasant either. They both felt such an overwhelming feeling building inside of them.

"It's hard to believe," Sid commented, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"What is?" Rhonda asked.

"That he's just barely hanging on by a thread in there."

Sid stared at Rhonda, with her face smeared with mascara and eyeliner. His heart felt heavy. She didn't dare look at him; she kept her watering eyes on the ground.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so morbid. It's just hard to think of anything else, you know?"

"No, no. I know where you're coming from. All I can think about is how tough it's going to be these next few days. I don't know how I'll stand it." She said shakily. Sid noticed her tension and put an arm around her shoulder.

"We have to stick together," He told her, "All of us."

She nodded, eyes filled to the brim with salty tears. A few spilled over, and Sid brushed them away with his thumb. Rhonda smiled, although it was barely visible, and wrapped him into a tight hug.

They pulled away after some time. Sid took one last puff of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it with his Converse.

"I better head home," Sid commented. Rhonda nodded in silent agreement. Once again, they wrapped their arms around each other before departing in separate directions. Sid approached his old, beat up truck and sped home.

He opened the door to the apartment as quietly as he could, trying hard not to wake his mother. When he entered, he noticed the numerous beer bottles on the dusty kitchen table and figured his mom had been drinking again. A sigh erupted from him and his heart felt heavy all over again. She told him she wasn't going to drink anymore. So much for that promise.

Slowly, he cleaned up her mess before grabbing himself a cup of water and retreating to his cramped room. He flopped onto his bed, which responded with a large creaking noise, and he felt suddenly drowsy. Within minutes he was asleep, dreaming of the hospital's white walls and stale smell.

Rhonda, on the other hand, didn't even try sleeping. She arrived home, feeling very empty inside. It didn't help that it was just her and her dad all alone in that huge house now. Her mother's jovial spirit no longer occupied the area.

Flicking on the light to her bedroom, she sat down on her couch and stared blankly down at the white carpet. The longer she sat and thought, the more vacant she felt. Scouring her room for something to keep her mind off of everything, she grabbed a fashion magazine off of her bureau and began flipping through the pages mindlessly. She stared at the pages but didn't comprehend anything they said. Her eyes became blurry as she lost focus of the magazine. Tossing it aside, she turned on the TV instead.

Her whole night was spent trying to keep her mind off of what had just happened at the hospital, which was so much harder than she thought. Sid's words seemed to ring in her mind. _"He's just barely hanging on by a thread in there."_

Phoebe hitched a ride home with Gerald, seeing as she did not have her own car yet. The ride was spent in silence, for both were deep in thought. After just a few minutes, they arrived at Phoebe's house. Gerald gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Get a good sleep," He added before she got out of the car. "God knows we all need it."

"You too." She called as she headed up to her front door and stepped inside. Quickly, she scurried to her room where she pulled out her diary and scribbled furiously. When Phoebe had something on her mind, she absolutely had to write it down. And so she filled pages and pages of her thoughts before the sun came up. Eventually, she fell asleep with her head on her precious diary and a pen in her hand.

When Gerald got home, he felt absolutely lost. What was he to do without his best friend? Who would he play basketball with on the weekends, or share a room with in college? Surely no one would ever be able to fill that spot. Best friends since kindergarten and now it might all be over in one measly second.

Absentmindedly, he slumped onto the couch and hit the power button on the remote. A sports highlights show was on but Gerald didn't pay attention to it. He stared blankly at the TV until his eyes burned and his mind was driving him mad. He thought about what he saw over and over again. He thought about his friends falling apart in front of him. He thought about what it was like to be in Arnold's state. He thought until his mind hurt and his eyes drooped. Finally, he drifted to sleep.

Helga was a wreck. Her whole body was limp and tired, and she felt as though she wouldn't even make it home in her current state. However, just a few minutes later she pulled up to her house and dragged herself through the front door.

The first thing she saw was her mother, Miriam, asleep at the kitchen table with a glass of brandy in one hand. Then, she heard Bob's snoring ripping through the otherwise quiet house. He was in his favorite chair near the television. Typical.

She entered her very pink room and stepped into her closet. Calmly, she pulled a box of all her diaries, from kindergarten to the end of middle school. They were all love poems written to or about Arnold. She remembered that when she stopped writing in them, she vowed to keep them forever. But she couldn't. She grabbed each one and ripped it down the seams. When she was finished, she took the remains of the diaries downstairs to throw them into the fireplace.

She didn't exactly care that she wasn't thinking very clearly. She just wanted them to be gone. To read those words again would be too painful. Feeling somewhat pleased, she crawled into bed and stayed there until she could see the sun peeking through her blinds, illuminating her tear-stricken face.

* * *

Everything is dark around me.

It is the weirdest feeling I have ever felt.

I feel suspended in midair, but yet I feel very grounded. My eyes do not see a thing, not even myself. I cannot blink. Come to think of it, I cannot breath, either. Yet, I don't feel at a loss for air.

I hear a quiet voice in the distance. It echoes.

_"It's like there's no more air,"_

The voice says.

"_We can't breathe anymore."_

And then silence. Pure, undisturbed silence. My ears seem to be the only thing working at the moment. The darkness around me engulfs my very presence. It seems as if I don't even have a body anymore.

_"Do you know what you've done for us?"_

A raspy voice cuts through the silence like a knife. Oddly, I feel like I can recognize this voice. Yet my mind can't conjure up a name or face. The feeling of familiarity comforts me.

"_You have always been the only person I could talk to," _

The voice is soft, and it sounds distraught. Almost like it's pleading.

"_No one else ever listened!"_

The sudden loudness catches me off guard. This time, the voice is strangled and choking. Crying for help. Desperate. It upsets me.

My mouth feels dry. I move to lick my lips but I can't. I don't have control over myself anymore.

"…_Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there__  
__But only agony, and that has ending;__  
__And the worst friend and enemy is but Death."_

A different shaky voice recites a poem. The tone is quiet and timid, yet strained. I can barely make out the words of this voice.

"_I'm not giving up on this. And deep down, I know you aren't either. I don't know how I know it, but I just do. Trust me on this. I love you man, you know that? It'll all be okay."_

The deep voice gives me a sense of reassurance. Unlike the others, this one is somewhat calm, although still shaky and uncertain. All of them have been so uncertain. But this voice has been the only comforting one. 'It'll all be okay', it said.

"_What else can I say? I miss you? Yes, of course I miss you. Although I'd rather stick a pen in my arm than tell you that. But it's true. All because you were the pair of ears that __listened__. I had so many people surrounding me but they were all idle relationships. No one listened to what anyone else had to say, except you."_

This person's voice is angry and coated with grief. I can literally feel the pain radiating off of it, even in my state.

"_You listened. And you cared, and you helped, and you solved. I think so many people are shook up because you might have been the only pure, selfless and considerate person left in this world. At least, I know that's why I'm so shook up."_

It becomes softer, the voice. Gentler. As if it's picking out the words very carefully and trying not to become worked up.

"_I…love you. I love you, Arnold. Yes, me, Helga G. Patacki, loves Arnold."_

My feeling of weightlessness disappears. I feel like I'm falling. The darkness around me remains. I still can't breath. My throat feels tight.

I fall for what seems like eternity. And slowly, but surely, I begin to see a light forming below me. My throat closes tighter, my head spins. An overwhelming sense of fear engulfs me.

And then it all stops.

* * *

It had been a week since all of the friends gathered in the hospital lobby. That is when they got the phone call.

First, the hospital had called Arnold's grandma, who called Gerald. He proceeded to call Phoebe, who called Helga, who called Sid, and so on. Within minutes they were at the hospital, standing in that same lobby that they had all spent hours in. Eugene was the only one to notice Sid timidly gripping Rhonda's hand for dear life.

They approached Arnold's room just in time to see his eyes flutter open.

Instantly, a feeling of overpowering joy filled them all. The first genuine smiles in days emerged onto their faces. He was alive. Ignoring the nurse's orders, they all rushed in at once. The room instantly became filled with words of elation and cheering. Some cried from ecstasy (mostly Rhonda) and some just held a simple, authentic grin on their lips.

Frantically, they asked him a series of questions (mainly, "How do you feel?" and "Are you okay?") His voice came weak but his beaming smile let them know that there was nothing to worry about anymore.

"Children, children, please clear out!" A nurse shouted from outside of the tiny room. Grumbling, they filed out, Helga being the last in the room.

"Wait," She heard Arnold whisper, barely audibly. She turned around and gazed into his bright eyes.

"Yes?" She asked, coming a bit closer to his cot. Despite his cut, bruised, and tattered body, he looked absolutely blissful. He opened his mouth, clearing it a bit, and then continued in his soft voice:

"I love you, too."

**A/N: Yay! I finished! I really hope you guys enjoyed the path that I chose to take. I just couldn't let him die! Anyhow, let me know how you liked the ending!**


End file.
